The Smallest Coffins Are the Heaviest
by captainhillshipper
Summary: In this story, bad things happen. (My son felt that was an appropriate summary, though he thinks that about most of my stories.) Trigger: Infant death.


**A/N: My sincerest apologies to my lovely readers, but the Dementors attacked tonight and there wasn't a piece of chocolate in the whole damned house.**

**This is set in my Captain Hill universe so it is technically A/U, and I hope the writers of Captain America would never do such a cruel thing to Steve, so I hope it remains A/U. The title is from a photo I saw on tumblr tonight, which inspired this story.  
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**Read the story description above. This is a "read it and weep" story.**

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><p><em>"For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn."~~Ernest Hemingway<em>

Steve sat on one of the folding chairs the cemetery provided the family as the Priest said his words. The sound of the blood rushing through his head prevented Steve from hearing them. Next to him Maria sat tall and straight, tears dripped down her face from behind her sunglasses. His arm was around her, but she didn't seem to desire his comfort. He couldn't blame her.

Tony had helped them arrange a plot near Melissa's grave in Chicago. Maria wanted the sisters, her daughters, to be together. Steve's throat felt as if it would close off and strangle him as he looked at the tiny coffin. It was the smallest he could remember. He might have seen small coffins when he was a child, infant death was far more common then. This was Maria's second. The second baby she'd had to bury.

She had attended the service for her first daughter twenty-five years earlier with her foster parents by her side. They hadn't been able to prevent her loss, they hadn't known her when it happened. Now, she sat beside Steve, and he knew he was culpable. He knew he could have prevented her suffering another horrible loss, but he hadn't.

The service ended and their friends came to offer their condolences. Steve tried to stay near Maria, to offer her some comfort, but she slowly and methodically moved away from him. Again, he couldn't blame her. He had promised he would never cause her pain, and he had broken that promise in the most unforgivable way.

The workmen came to lower the tiny coffin and Steve watched, Tony now at his side, as the small wooden box that held his daughter's body was lowered into the ground. Across the grave from him, Maria stood with Pepper. It seemed to Steve that the small hole was a gaping chasm he could never hope to cross. It had taken her so long to trust him, so long to believe that he wasn't lying to her when he promised not to hurt her. She could never forgive him this, never trust him again.

Maria began to shake and Pepper supported her as she broke down. Steve wanted to go to her, wanted to take her into his arms, but he knew she would refuse him. He couldn't blame her.

Steve noticed a high-pitched noise, but no one around him seemed to hear it. He looked to find its source then felt his body begin to shake.

"Captain Rogers, we need you to leave."

Steve's eyes immediately shot open. He glanced up to the heart monitor that was attached to Maria. He instinctively knew that was making the noise.

"Your wife is in cardiac arrest, we need you to step outside, sir." The nurse was talking to him as she shook him, forcing him out of his slumber.

The medical staff had surrounded Maria. He couldn't see anything but the mound where her legs lay still under the blankets. The nurse guided him out of the room and shut the door as she returned. Steve stood, alone, in the hallway trying to catch his breath. He wondered if he should call someone but he looked at his watch and saw it was only 3 a.m. He didn't want to disturb anyone.

He walked over to the wall next to Maria's door and leaned his back heavily against it. He had fallen asleep at Maria's bedside again. He'd been sleeping in hospital chairs for almost two weeks now. Maria hadn't regained consciousness since she'd passed out in his arms in their bathroom, the floor and her night clothes covered in blood as she hemorrhaged. It was a miracle she and their baby were even alive. But this was the third time she'd gone into cardiac arrest, and their daughter didn't seem to be fairing much better.

The door opened and Maria's bed was quickly pushed out by the medical staff who then rushed her down the hall.

"We're going to go ahead and perform the surgery." The doctor stood next to Steve as Steve watched the staff turn the corner and wheel his wife out of view. "The team has been notified and the surgeon will be here by the time she's prepped."

Steve nodded mutely and stared at the last point he'd seen Maria's bed.

"You've already signed all the paperwork so there's nothing for you to do," the doctor said and patted him on the shoulder. "Why don't you go wait up in the NICU. We'll come for you as soon as we have any news."

Steve looked at the doctor as if he was seeing him for the first time and tried to process what he'd just been told. NICU, yes. He nodded then turned and walked toward the elevator.

Outside the double doors to the NICU, Steve scrubbed his hands thoroughly and rinsed them under the scalding water. He couldn't hold his daughter yet, she was too fragile, so he didn't have put on a gown.

His daughter's nurse was waiting for him and he followed her back through the faintly lit hall, past large rooms filled with other tiny babies with varying health problems, preemies and birth defects. Some were in incubators, like his daughter, some in open plastic beds. There were a few parents here and there, sitting, sometimes nodding off, in donated rocking chairs, next to their children.

Steve took his seat next to his daughter. He normally would greet her and talk to her, but what would he tell her tonight? That she might have to grow up without her mother? That she might never know the woman who had given her life at the cost of her own?

He gripped the arms of the chair and forced himself to calm. He had to stay under control for them. He had to keep it together so he could make the right decisions for them. He started the breathing techniques he'd learned from Bruce many years ago and after several minutes he felt his heart rate slow and his muscles relax.

As he leaned his head back on the chair, he prayed Maria would come through the surgery alright and that she'd waken soon. Then he drifted to sleep.

Steve sat on one of the folding chairs the cemetery provided the family as Nick Fury said some words. The sound of the blood rushing through his head and the soft cries from his daughter, bundled tightly in his arms, prevented Steve from hearing them…

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><p><strong>AN: I hope you all understood that last paragraph. He's basically just cycling through the same dream but the person changes depending on where he's sleeping. :( **

**This is part of my story arc and I did cover it two times in "I Don't Dance," Chs 5 & 27. **


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